#35. The Master and Disciple's Reunion (1)
Having wrapped up a grand affair, Brikal sat in the annex reception room to receive Rosel.
The third day of the banquet was mainly dedicated to state council meetings. After two days of lavish indulgence, they held these meetings before the lords returned to their territories.
Surprisingly, Brikal paid attention to state affairs on this day—at least to some extent. Of course, the wine never stopped flowing.
In truth, it was less about governance and more like a sycophantic contest among the lords. It was a competition to see who could leave the most precious gift in the king's carriage as he returned to the palace.
That was why Rosel had come to see Brikal early that morning. Under the guise of tribute, he was casting his net.
"Rosel. I nearly made a grave mistake with you. I apologize."
Brikal, who had blacked out drunk on the first day, had no memory of what happened with Roden. He had heard about it from his advisor and Dubel yesterday, and he was slightly impressed by how Rosel had smashed the head of a servant who had irked him.
"It's fine. You weren't in your right mind."
"Haha, that's just like you. So, you have a report?"
Rosel glanced at Gellion standing behind him, and the man placed a small case on the round table.
"What is this?"
It was customary at the start of the third day's council to present tributes. Priceless items like Arachne liquor, millennium ginseng, or Horun crafted by hobgoblins would grace the table.
Brikal eyed the rather ordinary-looking small case suspiciously and picked it up.
Click.
The lid popped open with the unlocking clasp. But the small rectangular rubber-like thing inside looked utterly unremarkable, and Brikal lifted it with evident disappointment, examined it briefly, and set it down.
"What is this?"
"An eraser that can rub out pencil marks."
"Eraser?"
Since the invention of the pencil, documents requiring fast notation—like magic tomes, alchemy books, and spellbooks with complex incantations—had all switched to pencils, making them everyday tools. Official documents and historical records with legal weight still used ink pens, but pencils had become hugely popular.
Exports from the Elond Kingdom had skyrocketed as a result.
Brikal's expression gradually lit up with anticipation at this follow-up invention. When Rosel proposed granting him the western territory in exchange for 30% of its export revenue as taxes, the king's mouth split into a gleeful grin.
"Hahaha! Well done! Of course, I must grant you that land!"
The land west of the capital was worthless anyway. Sure, the raw materials for the eraser's rubber compound came from nearby, but it was useless to Brikal.
Handing over that scrap for an overwhelming 30% tax rate? How could he refuse? It was more satisfying than any tribute.
He graciously bestowed it, and the corner of Rosel's mouth curved upward—a pitying smile for the oblivious Brikal, laughing away as the net tightened around him.
"Then I'll take my leave."
And so, Rosel had secured military placements in the west and east as planned.
All that remained was positioning forces in the north and south to encircle the capital from all four sides.
Brikal's royal guard boasted the kingdom's strongest military might. Golden coins rained down on those who joined, drawing elite talents from everywhere: sword ghosts, wide-area mages, unerring archers, healers capable of mass restoration, and more. The kingdom's finest clustered there.
To suppress them while minimizing casualties, overwhelming encirclement from every direction was the only way.
With that in mind, Rosel set to planning the northern and southern deployments.
Back in his office, Rosel gathered and organized documents for developing the new western territory near the capital, hashing out plans with Gellion.
Gellion scanned the papers and let out an exclamation.
"My word... when did you prepare all this?"
He knew how Rosel barely slept, catching catnaps while managing the vast territory. It was no wonder he was astonished—and a bit regretful that he hadn't shouldered more of the burden.
Not regret over missing the western development plans specifically, but simply wishing Rosel would share the load, even a little.
Gellion served him with utter sincerity.
Rosel smiled as if it were nothing.
"What's difficult about a great lord developing a minor territory?"
"But why bother building a sub-territory in such barren wasteland? We could produce the erasers here."
The western land near the capital was rocky and infertile, poor for cultivation. Dense forests nearby made it vulnerable to ambushes, and the nearest river was far, complicating water supply.
Gellion's doubt was natural. There seemed no need to send people into such hardship.
"Eraser production isn't the main goal. Aside from key personnel handling production, no one from Rosel Territory will relocate. A lord's duty is to protect their people's homes."
"...Pardon? Then how do you plan to develop it...?"
Territory development required immense labor. It wasn't a one-day job; building from scratch demanded hordes of workers. Without drafting locals, it was nearly impossible.
They could hire laborers with vast funds from other territories, but there was no point doing Rosel Territory's work in the wilderness.
Just then, a knock sounded, and the door opened. A man with sea-blue hair, burning red eyes full of resolve, and a scar on one cheek entered—none other than the king's royal guard captain, Dubel.
"...Captain Dubel?"
Startled by the unannounced visit, Rosel called out.
Dubel closed the door, entered, and bowed politely.
"Duke Rosel, I have urgent words for you. They may not be possible after today."
"Words that can't wait past today... for me?"
Before speaking, Dubel glanced at Gellion and nodded courteously. Gellion smiled warmly and rose.
"Heh heh, you two talk. This old man will withdraw."
"Thank you, Head Butler Gellion."
As Gellion passed, he clapped Dubel once on the shoulder—a gesture of unclear meaning, but one that seemed to encourage the rightness of his visit. Dubel smiled back.
Rosel closed the documents and gestured to the sofa.
"Please, sit, Captain Dubel."
"Thank you."
The third day's banquet featured council meetings until afternoon, followed by a modest evening party, after which everyone returned home on the fourth day.
The third-day party, an extension of the council, gathered only the attending noble heads and lords, so Isel sat comfortably at the round table, drawing.
Her master had told her the storm brewing for her had paused for now.
Thus, she was diligently illustrating the next installment of The Hero's Adventures, as fervently requested by Lady Silia.
"Ugh."
Then, a panel error occurred.
In comics packing many panels per page, mistakes were unforgiving. In the modern world, Ctrl+Z on a tablet would fix it, but this 100% handmade process offered no undo.
She had to scrap and restart from the first panel—a disaster. With a groan, Isel picked up the eraser from the table.
And shh shh, she erased the botched panel.
Foo. Blowing away the eraser crumbs, Isel looked at Mira in her cage.
"Isn't it amazing, Mira? Master gave it to me. Said it'd help with drawing comics."
Chirp chirp.
"Hee hee, right? I never thought I'd see one here."
It wasn't as effective as modern ones, but pretty good. As a child, she'd rolled eraser crumbs into pellets to flick them; receiving this one stirred fresh nostalgia. Isel fondled it, lost in memories of that day.
But the reverie ended abruptly.
Knock, knock, knock.
Not Gellion's crisp rap, Jichel's neat one, Silia's playful taps, or her master's polite knocks. This slow tempo was new, so Isel approached the door warily, gripped the handle, and asked,
"Wh-who is it?"
Silence. But she sensed a presence beyond. Powerless as a hero now, her senses remained sharp.
The knock was unfamiliar, but the presence felt... familiar.
Moments later, a voice from the other side made it click.
Ah... Emilia? I sought Duke Rosel's permission because I have something I must tell you before leaving today. Do you have a moment...?
"...M-Master...?"
The subject of Dubel's urgent message wasn't Rosel—it was Isel.
Torn between his knightly oath and human convictions, Dubel had come to her. After today, he felt he might never see her again.
Balancing precariously on the tightrope of oath and belief, he sought answers from Isel.
Her former master, Dubel, who had attacked her on their side. Yet she vividly remembered the mercy at his blade's tip and the anguish in his eyes. Without hesitation, she opened the door.
Click.
She had missed him. And longed for him—not the 'royal guard' Dubel filled with resentment and regret, but the 'master' Dubel of admiration and sparring.
She had hoped he would come for her.
"Ah... Emilia."
Unsure of a fitting greeting, Dubel said that, then hardened his expression. If Brikal found out he'd met Isel, it would be trouble—but he'd risked it for his disciple.
#35. The Master and Disciple's Reunion (1)
—Fin.